


the road to you

by 2014arias



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fix It Fic, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, here's a good fix it fic, hope y'all enjoy, i saw endgame today and i was so mad, really fast and easy but also fluffy and smooth, so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2014arias/pseuds/2014arias
Summary: a little fix it fic for the trash end of endgame. hope you enjoy!here is apostto reblog on tumblr <3





	the road to you

It was three o’clock in the morning, and Bucky couldn’t sleep.

He’d been attempting to sleep for hours, and although he usually fell into a deep slumber with his arms around Steve, that wasn’t the case tonight. Slowly, Bucky pulled away from Steve’s sleeping form, pushing the covers off him and sitting on the edge of the bed.

He let his forehead rest in his hands, massaging his temples. He put on his slippers and padded softly out of the room.

Tomorrow, Steve would return the infinity stones to 1945. Although Banner had practically perfected their time-travel machine, there was still a lot of stress plaguing Bucky’s mind. He knew the safest place for the stones was far back in the past, but that wasn’t the only thing left in 1945. Hydra was there; their friends were still there. Bucky was also in 1945.

He went to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and taking it to the living room. He turned on a lamp and sat with the whiskey in his hand, letting his mind wander.

He’d been sitting there for a while before he heard a stirring in the bedroom. A few moments later, Steve’s footsteps came out into the living room space. He heard Steve sigh.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Bucky’s shoulders. Steve was breathing in the scent of Bucky’s hair, and he leaned back into the touch, closing his eyes.  
“What are you doing up, Buck?” he murmured, kissing his cheek.

Bucky hummed in response, nuzzling Steve’s head with his cheek. “Thinking,” he answered softly.

Steve chuckled, “impressive.” He began pulling away, but Bucky reached up to grab his sleeve gently, shaking his head.

“Stay,” Bucky asked, looking over his shoulder into Steve’s eyes, “come here.” Bucky tentatively tugged his hand toward him. Steve walked around the couch, Bucky laying out on the cushions.

Steve settled his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist. Bucky rested his cheek against Steve’s forehead, closing his eyes. He relaxed, the knowledge that Steve got up to come find him reassuring. Steve would always find him, he reminded himself.

“What were you thinking about?” Steve asked, his breath tickling Bucky’s collarbones.

He chewed his bottom lip. “I was thinking about the train,” he said. He felt Steve tense in his arms momentarily. The train was their hardest subject.

Everything else beforehand was pleasant enough. Steve rescuing him, them having each other’s backs, Bucky saving him time and time again from punks on the street. It was all relatively enjoyable conversation - the memories were rose-colored, emblems of a simpler, kinder past. Bucky never remembered his time as the Winter Soldier, but Steve’s talk about it was never scary. _I always knew you’d come back,_ Steve would say, _the real you, not the monster they made you._ After his time as the Winter Soldier, their memories up until now were happier, although brutal. They were together again, after seventy years. Fate was a relentless motherfucker.

The train, however, was their darkest subject.

Steve rubbed his hands up and down Bucky’s back, soothing him. Bucky carted his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Why were you thinking of that?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky took in a shaky, anchoring breath. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he said.

At that, Steve gripped Bucky’s shirt, pulling him closer. Yes, Steve had lost Bucky that day. But Bucky had also lost Steve. The carnal fear he remembers feeling when he awoke, being dragged by Zoloft through the snow, blood from his arm painting a crimson path in their wake. _Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve,_ his mind had repeated on a loop. He hadn’t been able to speak, but he had cried. He had been able to think. He had been so, debilitatingly, gut-wrenchingly scared.

A less threatening, although still disturbing incarnation of that fear was toying with Bucky’s heart as the two of them rested on the couch.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Steve said, tilting his head back to look Bucky in the eyes, “Banner’s got it under control.”

Something thick and dry was squeezing Bucky’s throat. “Just…. don’t be stupid tomorrow,” he said.

Steve’s brow furrowed. He sat up. “Stupid how?”

Bucky sighed, wiping his face. He reached for Steve’s arm.

“No,” Steve insisted, “what do you think I’m going to do?”

His let his hand rest on his stomach, and he tapped it with his fingers. It was probably stupid. “You have… a savior complex, right?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No seriously,” Bucky said, “I’m genuinely worried.”

Steve just looked at him with the softest, tiniest of smiles. He raised an eyebrow.

Bucky said, “I don’t want you to save me.”

Steve’s eyes softened as Bucky stared into them. The piercing blue sent bolts of lightning to his heart. Bucky twisted his fingers, continuing, “I don’t want you to save Bucky from 1945. Don’t try to rescue me from Hydra. Don’t save me.” Steve looked hesitant, and he could tell the idea had crossed his mind.

The seven _decades_ of abuse were still rattling around inside of Bucky’s body. The conditioning, the training, the torture was still there. He’d wake up screaming every night for consecutive weeks. He’d impulsively throw knives at the front door when someone knocked at an unexpected moment. He never took baths, only showers. He never tended the fire. He never went swimming. He never plugged in tools or appliances. He’d never want a dog, or children. He’d never not flinch when Steve touched him unannounced, even affectionately. And he had a hard time believing Steve could resist changing these things.

Steve raised a hand to caress his cheek, but Bucky grabbed it firmly. “Buck-“

“I just want you to come back here.” Bucky’s voice cracked, “I need you here. In two-thousand and nineteen.” He brought Steve’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly. “Do you understand me?”

Steve nodded sincerely, leaning down to bring their lips together. His hands pressed gently to Bucky’s cheeks, he kissed him softly. Bucky hummed, carting his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve pulled back, reaching up to turn off the light. Bucky allowed Steve to rest his head on his shoulder again. Soon, Bucky was being ushered to sleep by the feeling of Steve’s heartbeat and the sound of his steady breathing.

The next day, the four of them met at the portal. Bucky stood a few paces away, watching as Banner, Sam, and Steve talked logistics and planning.

When they were all ready, Steve walked over, giving Bucky a firm hug. “I’m coming back,” he whispered.

Bucky nodded.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Steve said.

Bucky smirked. “How can I?” he quipped, “you’re taking all the stupid with you.”

With that, Steve mounted the steps up the platform.

“Three…” Banner said from the control panel, “two…”

Steve didn’t break eye contact. “I promise,” he mouthed. Bucky smiled, hands shaking.

“…one.” There was a flash, a sucking noise, and Steve was gone.

“Okay,” Sam said, “so he should be back in five, four, three, two…” he reached one. And… a flash, a noise, and Steve was there again. Nothing moved in the forest, a serious sense of finality had cloaked the four of them.

“It’s over,” Banner stated seriously, “it’s all over.” Sam nodded at the control panel.

Everything was over; fighting was over.

His line of sight, no, his entire sense of reality, had honed in on Steve standing there. He was beaming, eyebrows raised at Bucky. A warm, enveloping sensation wrapped itself around him. Seven decades of finding each other, to lose each other, to find each other again and again and again and again… were over.

Bucky grinned.

Fate was a relentless motherfucker.

**Author's Note:**

> fanfiction is a way of rectifying the damage done when entertainment is managed by corporations, and not people.


End file.
